


Shadows of the Past

by persistent_pedantry



Series: Just a Bunch of Technicolour Horses, but They're Angsty and Have Guns Now [1]
Category: Fallout: Equestria, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27241255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persistent_pedantry/pseuds/persistent_pedantry
Summary: An ancient horror turns up in Fallout: Equestria. It doesn't go great.
Series: Just a Bunch of Technicolour Horses, but They're Angsty and Have Guns Now [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1988980





	Shadows of the Past

**Author's Note:**

> I meant to make a story for a Hallowe'en competition but put it off until the last minute, so I ended up banging this out and not even proofreading. While it's shoddy and brightly showcases my lack of sureness as to how strong Nebula should be, the banter's good. It's rough, it's got a lot of issues, but I like it anyway. Enjoy.

_,כאשר הלילה ירד_

_וכאשר ירח תשיעי מחכה,_

_בבקשה, סוסה של ירח,_

_תן לנו חושך אמיתי!_

_תן לנו חושך אמיתי!_

“So it’s a ritual of some type...” Xeri murmurs, looking over the worn, stained pages. “This would be interesting, if I understood any of it.”

It’s 30th Sun, 10th Moon. The Arcane Sector is quiet, as always, with a lone zebra sitting at her desk. All the other Specialists had gone to bed, aside from Tender and two Apprentices; as for Prof. Nebula... well, who knows? She tends to wander off a lot. While Tender and one of the Apprentices seem to be working on that consciousness spell, with the bronze-coated Apprentice the AMS, Xeri’s left to read through an ancient tome they recently found. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to be in the same family as the Black Book, but it’s still got some... interesting spells. It seems to be very celestially based, like light and darkness-based spells or rituals that can only be performed during certain planetary eclipses. It’s all very... well, weird, even by Xeri’s standards.

“Hey, um... you. You, I forget your name,” Xeri says, beckoning the cleaning Apprentice until he canters over, looking at her with a small sigh. “It’s Pocket Watch, Miss Xeri. I really need to clean the AMS for tomorrow.”

“Well, Pocket,” she says, lightly tapping the page of the leather-bound book. “This is something else you need to focus on for tomorrow. Do you have anything due after you’ve cleaned?”

“Sleep comes to mind,” Pocket grumbles, brushing aside a brass mane. “Hey, that’s Haybrew.” He mentions, suddenly interested in what lay on the wafer-thin pages.

“It is, but I don’t know much. If I recall, you got in as an Apprentice because you speak it, didn’t you?” She asks, looking at him inquisitively.

He clears his throat, noticeably offended. “I speak eight languages and write three, Miss.“

“I know, I know. You mention it whenever you get the chance,” she replies with a smirk, getting up and patting the young stallion on the back. “All I could piece together was that it’s to be done by tomorrow night: the thirty-first of Tenth Moon. Think you can do it by then.”

“Probably. Haybrew isn’t my strongest language, but it’s not too hard when you get over the right-to-left thing,” he replies, taking her seat with another sigh. “Don’t blame me when the AMS doesn’t work right tomorrow.”

“I’ll take the fall, it’s fine. Just focus on translating.”

So, he did. While Xeri went off to attend to other jobs, such as sleeping and generally leaving work to the NFGs, as per military tradition, Pocket continued to work through the night. Was it even night? It was hard to tell, given how they were underground and all. All that could tell him was the clock on the wall, slowly passing from hour to hour, until it all went dark.

Because he fell asleep.

Translating is hard work.

Soon enough, though, he’s woken up by an uncharacteristically excited zebra. The clock reads five minutes to midnight... or midday. Dammit.

“Alright, come on, Pocket. What did it say?” Xeri asks, looking at him expectantly.

“Oh, uh— Wait, lemme just—“ Pocket stammers briefly, rummaging through a small pile of papers before procuring the right one. “Okay, so we need to be on the surface, one of us has to call a sacred verse to the moon, and... that’s it, I think.”

Xeri pauses, her excitement gone as she looks at him. “You think,” she replies, deadpan.

“Well, the rest was on the next page and you always say not to touch your stuff, so...” Pocket replies, undeniably smug.

Xeri groans, nearly throwing him out of the chair and into the corridor. “Okay, whatever, we don’t have any time to waste translating the rest. Normally with these kinds of rituals, they’re for luck or superstition. The ones I’ve managed to translate have only been the equivalent of throwing rocks at the sun, to be frank.”

“Right. Okay,” Pocket mutters, taking the piece of paper and making his way out into the corridor. “Well, we should hurry. We need to be on the surface to see the moon.”

“Nullum cacas.”

“Hey, fuck you.”

Xeri looks at him in doubt, as if her hearing has mysteriously made up him insulting her. “Say that again?”

“We’re performing an unknown ritual on the night of a mostly unknown pre-war day or sacrilege. This is dangerous, so I figure I get at least one free pass,” he replies, seemingly unbothered by the look.

“That does seem fair.”

With the two of them soon coming up on the elevator, Xeri promptly hits the button and, once the door opens, steps inside with Pocket in tow. The doors close, with the two quickly rising towards the surface.

Two minutes later, they were both outside on the border of Old Olneigh, with Hellhounds slowly prowling the grounds. This may have been a bad idea.

“Hey— Hey, Arc,” comes an Irish voice in Xeri’s ear, causing her to flinch briefly. “What the fresh fuck are you doin’? This is the second time this month and we can’t afford to keep doing this shite, over.”

“Performing a ritual. Refer to Log-3 for info, over,” she replies, reaching up for her earpiece.

“Log-3 would’ve notified me about a ritual in the middle of the night on N—“

The sound cuts out as Xeri takes out her earpiece and offers it to Pocket. “Put this somewhere safe.”

Taking it and brusquely tucking it away in his mane, he looks at Xeri with a nod towards the moon. “Yeah, okay, so can we do this so we don’t get eaten by Hellhounds?”

“Right. Go ahead, Pocket,” Xeri says, nodding in affirmation as she takes a step back. The area’s plain, flat, perhaps thirty feet from the hospital. She wanted somewhere big in case something went wrong.

Pocket clears his throat, staring up at the moon (with a brief glance at his paper) and calling out:

_When niyt hath fallen,_

_And when the nynthe Moone awaiteth,_

_Prithee, O Mayre of Moone,_

_Grante us true darknesse!_

_Grante us true darknesse!_

An unnatural echo resounded through the plains, interrupted only by the bated breath of him and Xeri.

“That’s... ominous,” Xeri mutters, looking at Pocket. “Pocket!” She calls, slowly trotting towards him. “Anything?”

“I don’t think so,” he replies, turning to look at her. “I guess I should’ve done the second pa—“

A purple, glimmering fog rises from the air, a heavy weight bearing down around them. For a moment, the world seemed to be totally absent of any light, any happiness, until the darkness took form, standing in the fog. Wings had formed on a tall, slender body, with a horn gleaming a harsh aqua to dissipate the fog. An alicorn stood among the spreading mist, spreading her wings with a malicious laugh.

“Oh, how wonderful it is to be back!” The alicorn exclaims, its voice feminine, with sinister, jarringly soothing undertones. “And it appears there’s been some redecorating,” she continues. The alicorn chuckles, ice blue eyes staring at the two. “How quaint.”

Xeri says nothing for a moment, shifting her stance. “Creatura, enim tibi citari volumus. Tua sunt: tuum nostrum. Tuum nomen, esse statum.”

Pocket stiffens, staring at the figure in silent horror.

The alicorn chuckles again, slowly stepping forward to closer observe Xeri. “A zebra, have we? Speaking in native tongue, perhaps to assert some form of dominance?”

“I will repeat myself only once,” Xeri says, resolute as ever as the dark figure approaches her. “Creature, we have summoned you by our—“

A harsh snap fills the air, Pocket audibly cursing as he backs away. “Shit! What!”

Xeri takes a single step back, staring at the alicorn smashing against the irrigated ground.

“Nightmare Moon, you will return from whence you came. This world is not one that you‘d like to be in anymore,” comes a voice, a soft, maternal tone now steeled in anger.

“You hold no power from such a dishonourable attack,” the alicorn responds, rising to her hooves again to turn her attention to the approaching unicorn.

She looks much like a caring mother; perhaps she is one. A magnolia coat covered by a pristine lab coat, a brown mane tied up in a neat bun, and soft blue eyes glaring at the rising goddess. “I do not repeat myself, Nightmare,” she says, her horn glowing a blinding gold. “I hate having to be angry, so the sooner the better.”

Nightmare raises a brow, beginning to approach the magnolia unicorn as Xeri and Pocket look on, starkly silent. “You speak my name, so you must know who I am. You must also know how much of a fool you must be to challenge me.”

“And yet, you don’t know a thing about me except for that I resort to cheap tactics to get the job done,” she retorts, smiling despite herself. “To be on equal terms, my name is Nebula. I do magic tricks.”

By now, Nightmare stands barely five feet from Nebula, watching her with growing curiosity. “By all means then, Nebula, as I’m unwilling to leave by your ter—“ She’s cut off by a slash across the side, grunting in pain. Before she could say a word, sharp edges begin to push into her sides; a golden aura tinged with red streaks.

“Again, cheap tactics,” she continues, her expression unusually stoic. “Going back on my dislike of repeating myself, I really do mean it when I say ‘this isn’t a world you’d like to be in anymore’. Before the war, death and torture were very rare things, as far as our records say. However, war’s... corrupted us, so to speak. Now we have things such as what you’re in now.”

Nightmare attempted to look at her sides, only to be sliced with her movement. With what little she could see, a myriad of thin, long golden blades were pushed against her body, keeping her in place. Even the slightest movement would cause bleeding, keeping any concentration from forming. No concentration, no magic. “One thing you could certainly learn is not to monologue. It’s a terrible habit,” she notes, her voice faltering from pain every now and then.

“I don’t like not knowing things so I do my best to prevent that issue for others. However, if you insist,” Nebula replies, stepping back with a smile. Her horn flashes again, a harsh blade of light forming hardly an inch from between Nightmare’s eyes. The blade is, frankly, large enough to go through her entire head, and along with the density of the magic forming it... it doesn’t seem natural. “You may be a goddess, but I am a machine. A literal, non-proverbial machine with an unhealthy lack of mercy for alicorns who go by ‘Nightmare’. I will lift the razors in ten seconds, and you will return to your STB. If not, the sword will go through your head. Very simple. Your time starts now.”

The smaller blades vanish, leaving Nightmare to look at Nebula sceptically. “STB, you s—“

“Space-Time Bearings. Eight, seven...”

“You think that I can return t—“

“Reverse trips are easier as you’re linked to your home STB. Four, three...”

“Y—“

”Two.”

” _You do not—!_ ”

“One—“

She disappeared, leaving the golden blade suspended through where her head once was.

Nebula sighs, looking towards the two stiff Arcane workers. “In the brief encounters I’ve had with alternate universes, they’ve all been very dramatic with their timing. Come on, back inside we go,” she explains, trotting over and offering a hoof.

“Tha— Th— That— That was—“ Pocket stammers, taking a moment to compose himself. “That... That was Nightmare Moon, Miss Nebula.”

“That it was. Take my hoof, please.”

“You... almost killed a goddess.”

“This is an age of science; religion is dead. My hoof, Pocket.”

Nodding unsurely, Pocket takes her hoof, offering his to Xeri. “Okay, so... what did you mean with the, uh... the machine thing?”

“She’s augmented,” Xeri answers simply, resting a hoof gingerly on his side, leaving his hoof up like a spare part. “Thank you for helping us, Ma’am.”

“You’ll both be disciplined for this and I’ll likely not let either of you make another ritual until the day I die, but you’re welcome all the same,” Nebula replies, her usual smile slowly returning as she looks at the star-filled sky. No darker than before that fiasco. Good.

And they vanished.


End file.
